


Silver, Grey, and Blue

by oswinry



Category: Doctor Who
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 20:13:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17351858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oswinry/pseuds/oswinry
Summary: The Doctor, during the Dark Times.





	Silver, Grey, and Blue

His footsteps echo and thud against a solid floor. The sounds ricochet across the room, multiplying until he is crushed under their weight.  
  
He stops moving. It is silent in the Tardis again.  
  
_(The door opens with a snap of the Doctor’s fingers. Amelia’s eyes light up. The console room was, after all, designed for her.)_  
  
There is a flicker of red at the edge of his vision. It is his bowtie, glancing off the monochrome grey of the walls.  
  
_(It’s a little girl, running past him. She turns and looks at him. “It’s cold in here,” she announces.)_  
  
He smiles, sadly and very, very gently. “It’s always cold in here, Pond.”  
  
_(“Poor Amy. He always leaves you, doesn’t he, alone in the dark.”)_  
  
“I didn’t leave you,” he pleads. “I would never–”  
  
_(“Why did you say five minutes?” she demands, red cloud of hair snapping about her face.)_  
  
The Doctor flees the console room. Everything is all…grey. And grim. Why did he redesign it like this?  
  
The Tardis, of course. She is mourning, too. He had forgotten.  
  
“You are not the only person who ever lost someone,” echoes in his head, and he blinks. That hasn’t happened yet. The Tardis must be leaking.  
  
_(“Alive isn’t sad.”_  
  
_“It’s sad when it’s over.”)_  
  
The Doctor goes to the wardrobe room, ripping off the bowtie. Suspenders need to go, too. He may as well match his Sexy.  
  
The room is hushed, a pale blue color. Mirrors line the walls. It isn’t grey, at least. The Doctor carefully folds his clothes and puts them away, taking a dark coat from–the Victorian era, is it? Just this once he’ll dress for the times.  
  
_(“Blimey! You look beautiful.”)_  
  
There is a purple jacket tossed over a chair, where he threw it back when Donna was invading his beautiful ship, throwing his world back into orderly chaos.  
  
He doesn’t want to be ginger anymore.  
  
A pink scarf, stupidly long, is languidly perched next to the jacket. It reminds him of Romana. He misses her.  
  
“You wouldn’t have to miss me,” he hears, acerbically, “if you hadn’t blown up the planet.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. There is an ocean in his throat. He coughs it down and leaves for the kitchen. Food, that’s what he needs. Maybe after some food he’ll feel better. Maybe he’ll be able to move, help Vastra and Jenny on a case–  
  
_(“Raggedy Man–”)_  
  
“Shut up,” he snaps.  
  
The first kitchen he comes to is colored a loud red. He runs to the second kitchen, a smaller one, cozy and homey. There is an apple on the counter.  
  
_(He blinks, and twelve years pass. The apple is still fresh. Her nails, long and berry-red, dig into it.)_  
  
He blinks again. The apple blurs. Why is it blurring?  
  
The Doctor flees the apple, runs to the console room. He collapses on the stairs, blankly staring at the grey wall.  
  
_(“Find someone,” Amy says, ruffling his hair fondly. Donna nods. Rose asks him, “On your own?”)_  
  
He notices that they are all crying.  
  
Perhaps if he stays quite still, they won’t leave. Perhaps, if the sound of the Tardis is never heard again, their voices will only get louder.  
  
Well. He always has been a dreamer.  
  
Grey flickers at the edge of his vision. A little girl follows.  
  
The Doctor does not move. He barely breathes.  
  
The room grows colder.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!  
> I can also be found on [tumblr](https://actual-bill-potts.tumblr.com).


End file.
